


Five Moments From the Life of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Initiate

by skatzaa



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canonical Character Death, Education, Gen, Gossip, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jedi, Jedi Culture, Jedi Temple (Star Wars), Light Angst, Meditation, Obi-Wan Kenobi-centric, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:15:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23328376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa
Summary: ...and one moment from the life of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Knight.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 79
Collections: Worldbuilding Exchange 2020





	Five Moments From the Life of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Initiate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadaras](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/gifts).



> Shadaras, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> I didn't really put in the effort of figuring out how old Obi-Wan is in any of these scenes, only that he's getting a little older with each one.

1.

“Come here, little one,” Clan Master Cyhni called, gesturing him over.

Obi-Wan dropped the stuffed bantha toy he’d been playing with and ran to her side, almost tripping over Zivi’s leg on the way. Master Cyhni sat on the floor in one corner of Savrip Clan’s main gathering room, propped up on a few of the soft cushions they liked to nap on. He stopped by her hip, hands clinging to the folds of her robes, and stared up at her.

“Yes, Master Cy?” he asked.

She smiled down at him, her pretty yellow facial markings creasing. He _loved_ her facial markings, the way they swooped over her cheeks and around to her chin. “Would you like to continue our last lesson?”

Obi-Wan bit his lip, no longer as happy, and dropped his eyes to stare at his hands instead. Master Cyhni had been teaching him to read, but he wasn’t very good at it yet. And Master Yoda always said it was okay to fail at first, so long as he kept trying, but he didn’t like the way not understanding made him feel, hot and a little sick and like he had done something wrong.

“Little one?” Master Cyhni waited until he looked up at her again. “Will you come here and tell me what’s bothering you?”

He scrambled up into her lap and snuggled closer. Master Cyhni hugged him, her hands warm and large against his back. Obi-Wan sighed happily and closed his eyes. He _loved_ Master Cyhni’s hugs.

She gave him a few more moments before rubbing her hand up and down his back. “Obi-Wan?”

“The letters don’t really make sense, Master. I keep getting them mixed up.”

“Hm.” Master Cyhni tilted her head so that her lekku brushed against his ear. Obi-Wan giggled, and then watched in rapt attention as she summoned a datapad over, using the Force! They’d only started learning how to float feathers with Master Plo; it would be _years_ before he could do anything like that. “Obi-Wan, can you show me which of the letters get mixed up?”

Obi-Wan took the datapad and saw the aurebesh letters all lined up. After a second, he pointed at the screen and said, “This one and this one and… this one all switch a lot, and these two. Those are the worst.”

Master Cyhni studied the datapad, and then she started pointing at the same letters Obi-Wan had. “This one is Krill, and this one Cherek. That one is Shen. You can tell Cherek apart, because it’s leaning towards its neighbor. Krill like to stand upright, and Shen has these two little dots to keep it company. For these two, Wesk, here, is whole, while Orenth is broken into two pieces. Can you see that it’s broken? Good. Do you think you can remember that?”

Obi-Wan bit the inside of his cheek, but nodded. It helped, a little. Sisseaa liked to lean against him when they sat together, so she was like… Cherek? But the other two… he’d already gotten them confused again.

“There are a lot of ways to help us remember the different letters, but while we work on that, there’s another trick we can use,” Master Cyhni said. She took the datapad and tapped something. Offering it back, she asked, “Is this any easier to look at?”

Obi-Wan looked down at the screen, and _gasped._

They were the same symbols, but they looked different somehow, heavier almost, and they made _sense_ now.

“Yes, Master Cy!” he said, grinning. It would take some practice for him to remember all of the letters again, but it would help if they weren’t flipping and flopping all over the screen. He looked up at her, and giggled when she tickled him with her lekku again.

“I’m very glad, little one,” she said, and smiled at him. “Now, let’s continue where we left off. This is Osk, and it makes a sound like this…”

* * *

2.

Saber Master Drallig stood at the center of the training dojo with his hands clasped behind his back, surveying Savrip Clan where they were seated at the far edge of the dojo. Every line of his body was held straight and rigid; the only softness to him was his long, loose hair.

“I am sure you have all learned at least some of the history of lightsaber combat from your clan master and your lessons,” he said. “Can anyone tell me something about Form I?”

Obi-Wan remembered what Master Cyhni had told them about about Form I, but he didn’t raise his hand. He was a little uncomfortable, here in the dojo instead of a classroom, and he didn’t really want to draw Master Drallig’s stern attention.

Meshati didn’t share his reservations, his hand shooting up. At Master Drallig’s nod, he said, “Shii-Cho is the oldest of the saber forms, and the one that all other forms are based on.”

“Very good, youngling,” Master Drallig said, with another dip of his chin. Meshati grinned, his facial markings flushing a darker blue. Master Drallig pivoted on his heel and began pacing the length of the central dueling square as he continued. “Vaapad is the lone exception, but few, if any, of you will ever learn the Ferocity Form. However.” He pivoted again. “Before you can learn Soresu or Djem So or another form, you must first learn _determination.”_

Master Drallig paused, turned, his long hair swaying. He looked at each of them in turn, and when his eyes met Obi-Wan’s, they were calm, almost kind, and totally at odds with the rest of his bearing.

“Above all else, Shii-Cho requires patience, control, and, yes, determination. The Force grants us clarity, but we must learn to use that clarity responsibly.” He unclipped his saber from his belt and held it in front of him, one hand on the hilt, the other cupping the pommel. As he spoke, he began to move, tightly controlled sweeps of his arms and solid, silent footwork. His saber remained disengaged. “It is not the Jedi way to go around chopping sentient beings into little pieces, simply because our lightsabers allow us to. Shii-Cho teaches us that in order to defeat our opponent, we must disarm them. And in order to disarm them, we must find every opening.”

Master Drallig spun, hair flaring out behind him, and brought the saber up in what Obi-Wan knew was a block. He held the position for a moment. “Shii-Cho requires observation. For one who is trained to listen, the Force turns that observation into action.”

He returned to his first position, lightsaber held before his chest, one hand under the pommel.

“Form I builds upon the katas you have already been learning with Master Yoda,” Master Drallig said, looking at them all again. “He has taught you control. Today, you will begin learning how to turn that control into opportunity.”

Obi-Wan hunched in on himself a little. Master Yoda had told him—on more than one occasion—that he still lacked control. He hoped that wouldn’t become an issue today.

“Now,” Master Drallig told them, “please rise and draw your lightsabers. Do _not,”_ he added, with a snapped hint of warning that made several of Obi-Wan’s clan mates to freeze guiltily, “engage your sabers. The blade of a lightsaber adds no weight, only reach, so it is safer for _all_ of us to first learn without even a training blade engaged.”

He waited until they had all lined up on the sparring mats of the dojo. “Are any of you left-handed? Good. Please step over here. The first kata works the same no matter what your dominant hand is, but I will work with you four on reversing the later katas as we get to them. Now, the first kata of Shii-Cho always begins with the salute, like so…”

* * *

3.

Obi-Wan hurried into the meditation chamber ahead of his clan mates, eager to begin the lesson. Only Aaweh had beaten him here, and she beamed when she saw him, waving him over as her lekku bounced. He didn’t really understand Twi’leki sign language very well, but she’d been taking lessons with Master Ijoz and had told him that motion meant she was happy to see him.

He sat down on the mat next to her, and together they waited impatiently for the rest of their clan to join them. Master Yoda never arrived for their lessons until everyone was seated and ready, because he said it helped them practice patience. He usually laughed afterward, that weird little cackle that usually preceded other masters sighing and pinching the bridges of their noses, so he was probably teasing them.

Master Yoda’s control over the Force was really, really good though, Obi-Wan knew, because he never, ever messed up and came into the room before they were all there.

Finally, _finally,_ Aluun—perpetual straggler that she was—wandered in and sat on the last open meditation mat, completing the circle, save for the empty spot on Aaweh’s other side.

That was another thing about Master Yoda—he _always_ had the exact number of mats they needed. Even when Ikassa got sick at the last moment and stayed behind with Master Cyhni, or when Sil and Samzul _got lost_ and spent the afternoon in the Archives with Master Nu instead. He _always_ had the perfect number.

The lights in the room dimmed as the slats on the windows rotated part way open, letting in the gray morning light. Coruscant didn’t have a true winter, not like a lot of other planets, but for a few months of the year, everything got grayer—the sky, the sunlight, even the Temple itself.

That’s when Master Yoda came in, riding in his hover chair today instead of using his walking stick. He kept going until the chair was in the open space between Aaweh and Zivi, and they all turned and craned their heads back to look at him. Obi-Wan had once tried to track the rhythm of Master Yoda’s swaps between walking stick and chair, until he overheard Master Yoda grumbling at another master, “Mysterious, are the ways of the Force. Mysterious, are _not,_ the ways of 800-year-old knees,” and he’d stopped trying.

Master Yoda peered at them, then lowered his hover chair until he was a little closer to eye level. He said, “Good morning to you, Clan Savrip.”

“Good morning, Master Yoda,” they chorused, not quite in unison.

“Ready, are you, to begin meditation, hmm?” Master Yoda asked, his ears flicking. Everyone said yes, still just a little bit off, and his ears flicked again. “Good, good! Continue today our previous lesson, we will.”

Giggles and whispers ripples through the circle. Obi-Wan did his best not to squirm; next to him, Aaweh giggled into her hand. Master Yoda turned his head to look at them, one ear raised a little. He looked very serious, but Obi-Wan could _tell_ he was excited too.

“Begin, we will, with Initiate Latji,” Master Yoda said, “And with Initiate Ruvlan, end, we will. See if improved, you have, since our last lesson we will!”

Aaweh couldn’t contain her giggle this time, and Master Yoda joined them. After the laughter died down, he closed his eyes, ears lowering, and everyone else stared with bated breath. Aaweh closed her eyes a second later.

This was a less a lesson in meditation, and more in communicating through the Force, a skill that Master Yoda said was critical for all Jedi. Not all, he’d admitted, would have the skill for it, but even the ability to convey images or impressions could be of use when spoken words were not possible. It was also, Obi-Wan remembered from last time, a good way to practice connecting with others in the Force.

He felt a sort of nudge against his mind, and closed his eyes as well, mostly so he wouldn’t have his concentration broken when someone—Sil or Samzul, from experience—ended up making a silly face to distract him. This was the hard part—opening his mind up to Aaweh without opening himself completely, because if he did that, then _everyone_ would know the message out of turn. It was about control, and so Obi-Wan was very careful as he let his mind reach out to Aaweh.

Her mind was as bright as the rest of her, bubbling like one of the springs in the gardens, and Obi-Wan felt himself grin without meaning to. She was the best in the clan at this game, and every word was perfectly formed: _Master Yoda says that his favorite commissary dessert is perfectly mixed purple puffy pudding, but only during playful, pleasant parties._

Obi-Wan managed not to laugh out loud, but it was a close thing. Aaweh’s mirth bubbled and fizzed next to his own. He had her repeat it to make sure he had it right, and then his closed himself off from her happiness and reached out for Orruhl on his other side. It was always easier for him to receive messages than to give them, but Obi-Wan searched for a sense of caution and quiet, and when he felt it, he knew he’d found Orruhl.

Orruhl wasn’t as good at this as Aaweh yet, but they let Obi-Wan pass on the message and only asked him to repeat it twice, the faintest hint of confusion drifting down the bond they shared. _Obi-Wan_ wasn’t as good as Aaweh either, but he focused really hard on forming the words in his mind. Just in case, he also conjured up an image of purple pudding—which he hated—and the last Life Day party the clan had celebrated together.

After another moment, he sensed Orruhl pulling away, and then he felt nothing from them at all.

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and nudged Aaweh gently. She grinned at him, lekku swinging—he didn’t know that motion yet, or what it meant—and then they settled in to watch. He always preferred going early in the round, because it meant he could watch all the others without having time to get nervous about his turn. It was fun to see their eyes close in a wave around the circle as the message traveled through the clan.

Sil and Samzul, sitting together like always, never took more than a few heartbeats to pass the sentence between the two of them. Their bond was so strong that when one heard it, the other did too, no matter how often Master Yoda reminded them that it wasn’t the purpose of the exercise.

Ikassa’s face tended to scrunch up in concentration—she said it was because she was much better at communing with plants than with people—and Meshati always tilted his head toward the person he was communicating with.

At last, Zivi’s eyes closed and opened again, and ze turned to look up at Master Yoda, who said, “Ready are you, Initiate Ruvlan, to share the message?”

Ze reached up and rubbed the back of zir neck, cheeks flushing slightly. Ze said, “I’m sorry, Master Yoda, all I got was something about pink pudding? And uh… a Life Day party?”

Obi-Wan ducked his head in embarrassment, because that was probably _his_ fault, but Master Yoda laughed.

“Better, that was!” He told them what the original sentence was, and then said, “Understand, we should, what went wrong, hmm, and _how?”_

The clan traced backwards, from Zivi to Aaweh, the messages they had received, and laughed together as each new mistake was uncovered. Master Yoda gave them exercises to practice with one another outside of his lessons, and then he smiled and told them to find a new mat, _not_ next either of the people they had sat with before.

Obi-Wan dashed across the room and ended up between Aluun and Kaldos, who glared at him, but he knew it was only because she was cranky that her horns were growing again. He looked around the circle and found Aaweh already looking at him. They shared a smile, and then Master Yoda was calling them all to order again and passing the next message on to Bant.

* * *

4.

Obi-Wan wiped his forehead with a towel as, around him, his clan mates joked and complained their way through the cool down stretches.

Master Drallig hadn’t started going any easier on them since he’d proclaimed them masters of Form I a couple of seasons ago; in fact, as they’d moved on to learning the opening katas of the other forms, he’d only gotten _stricter._ The clan now ended every saber lesson sweat-soaked and sore. Master Drallig, who did everything alongside them when he wasn’t checking over their form, never even looked winded.

Obi-Wan tuned back into his clan mates’ chatter in time to hear Sissea say, _“Force,_ I hope I don’t end up with a master who wants me to specialize in Ataru. I’m _wiped.”_

“Still better than Form II,” Kaldos said, stretching one arm above her head, her other hand braced on her elbow. “I’m _still_ sore from Master Dooku’s lesson.”

They all winced in agreement, but Meshati snorted from where he was leaning into a split. He said, “There’s, what, less than two dozen masters in the entire Order who specialize in Makashi? I think you’re a little safer from that than Ataru, Kal.”

Kaldos shrugged as she switched arms. “At least I’m more realistic than Samzul. He wants to specialize in _Vaapad.”_

That caused the whole group to pause, and they looked, as one, over to where Samzul was helping Sil stretch out his thighs.

“You’re joking,” Sissea said at last, her voice flat.

“Nope,” Kaldos said with a sigh. “He said Depa Billaba’s been knighted for longer than Jhe Vru. It’s only a matter of time before she takes a padawan, since Knight Vru already did, and between her and Master Windu…”

Obi-Wan threw the towel back over his head and scrubbed at his hair. None of them needed to be reminded that Knight Vru had taken a padawan only three years after being knighted, because the padawan had been _Aaweh._ Savrip Clan had been buzzing ever since; it seemed as though with one of the clan chosen, especially so _prodigiously_ young, the dam had burst, and masters were all anyone could talk about.

Well. Anyone besides Obi-Wan—and Ikassa, of course, who everyone knew was only waiting for the rest of the clan to be chosen before she declared her intent to join the AgriCorps. She didn’t want to leave anyone behind alone.

Obi-Wan didn’t have the same excuse. The Force rung clear and true when he thought of being a Jedi Knight, so he knew it was his path, he just… didn’t know what he wanted of a master, and so he had no opinion. At least, not one that he wanted to express out loud.

“And anyway, everyone _knows_ Knight Billaba has no intentions of taking a padawan,” Meshati was saying. “She has her eyes set on a Council seat.”

That got them started on the masters of the High Council, and who was likely to take a padawan in the next few years.

Obi-Wan dropped the towel and finally settled into his own stretches, listening half-heartedly and rolling his eyes at the more outlandish claims. No _way_ that Master Yoda took another padawan; whoever told Kaldos that had been lying through their teeth.

Thankfully, before someone could invent an even worse claim, Master Drallig stood from his spot in the far corner of the room and clapped his hands together once. Conversations died away, and when they were all silent, he said, “That is all for today, Savrip Clan. Next session, we will begin breaking into groups based on the form you would like to specialize further in. Please meditate on your choice beforehand.”

His gaze swept over the whole clan, scattered as they were throughout the dojo. “It’s acceptable if you end up changing your mind, or if, when you become a padawan, your master asks you to learn a different form. But you must all choose one to begin with.”

They all bowed, even Meshati, who was still in a split. Show off.

Obi-Wan took the dismissal at face value and turned to leave. He understood his clan mates’ urge to speculate, and the desire to be chosen. But something about it made his stomach clench. It made him think of all the times Master Yoda had said he lacked control, or the reprimands he’d received from his lesson masters for getting distracted with Aaweh or Bant, or the times he couldn’t meditate properly because he was too angry or upset or excited. What master would want someone like him as a padawan?

He sucked a breath in through his nose and unclenched his jaw, only then realizing how tense he’d become. He had to speak to Master Cyhni, he realized. She would help him to understand and address this anxiety.

Obi-Wan stepped out of the dojo, intent on making it to the crèche. They’d been moved to the dorms last year and, as older initiates that would soon be ready to undergo the initiate trials, were no longer officially under Master Cyhni’s care, but she’d made it clear that anyone in Savrip Clan was welcome to visit her and help out with her new clan of younglings. He would take her up on that now.

* * *

5\. 

Obi-Wan could feel the curious, considering gazes of the gathered masters on him, the anxieties and eager desire to please radiating off of his fellow initiates, the rushing, tumbling beat of his own heart.

He ignored them all and kept his eyes closed—though it didn’t really matter, what with the blast shield over his face—reaching instead for the soothing cadences of the Force.

A flicker in the Force, like the opening notes of a dance. Obi-Wan drew his saber from his belt and engaged the blade. The crystal hummed against his palm, snug under its cover of metal and wires, and it added its harmony to the Force’s melody.

He allowed the song to move him, to guide his feet and hands, his elbows that Master Drallig always said stuck out just a little too far, the curve of his spine. He could feel faint traces of his clan mates as they moved through their own dances, but he did not let that distract him.

The Force was speaking, and he would listen.

After some time, it came to him that he was moving through the third kata of Ataru, but at half the speed normally required for the Aggression Form. It transformed the kata into something gentle, almost graceful.

A trill, and he spun to avoid another initiate who had overbalanced too close to where Obi-Wan stood, and he stopped to offer them a hand up. They accepted and he pulled, and then they went their separate ways.

He wondered what sort of patterns they were tracing across the great ceremonial dojo’s floor, how they must look from above. He ducked as another initiate flipped lightly over his head. Meshati, or Obi-Wan would eat his boot.

Though he pulled from Ataru himself, Obi-Wan kept his feet on the ground. Some said the initiate trials were the best time to make a good impression on potential masters, but Obi-Wan had never been the showy one in his clan, and he wasn’t about to start today.

A pang from his crystal, and he spun the blade in response to countermand the dissonance, avoiding the double ended blade of Aluun’s saber. It sparked in the Force as she passed, like it always did, and Obi-Wan turned away.

He allowed the Force to guide him through katas and around initiates and under lightsabers, until the song slowed him to a stop. There was a deep calm settled into his bones, and he ended on the first and final salute of Shii-Cho, bowing in the general direction of the masters that were watching.

This was only the first portion of the trials. There would be more, he knew, and it would be far more strenuous than this. But he could be confident, at least, that he had passed the first test of the trials. The Force was gentle, but insistent: he had done well.

Obi-Wan Kenobi clipped his saber hilt to his belt and raised the blast shield, ready to face the next test.

* * *

+1.

Obi-Wan knelt at the center of the chamber, hands on his knees, head tilted down so far that his chin rested against his breastbone.

He was tired.

Every inch of him ached, down to his very heart. He was meant to be meditating on what his trials had revealed to him, but he could only breathe, and breathe, and remember the way the Sith’s red saber had slid out of Qui-Gon’s body.

He didn’t bother reaching out for the Force. Ever since Naboo, it had felt muted and sickly, squirming out from under his touch.

The long padawan braid that he’d carefully tended for over a decade was already gone, burned in Qui-Gon’s pyre, but Master Yoda had still insisted on a knighting ceremony upon their return to Coruscant, and Obi-Wan hadn’t had the energy to protest.

The doors groaned as they opened, because here, in the tallest point of the central spire, they were made of actual wood, older even than Master Yoda. Obi-Wan counted the footsteps that entered the chamber and circled around him: one, two, three… seven-and-a-gimer-stick, eight… eleven, _twelve._

…Thirteen?

It was nearly enough to raise his head, but he didn’t have the energy for that either. If Qui-Gon had lived, he almost certainly would’ve insisted on a private knighting ceremony with a ridiculous, obnoxious party afterward, to which he probably would have invited every last one of Obi-Wan’s clan mates from his initiate days. But Qui-Gon had not lived, and so Obi-Wan was being affording a full, _traditional_ ceremony.

Lucky him.

But a traditional knighting ceremony only ever had thirteen in attendance: the twelve members of the High Council, and the master of the padawan in question, unless, of course, the padawan’s master was also on the council.

His master was dead. There should only be twelve.

At last, Obi-Wan mustered the will to raise his chin, and—stared, mouth hanging open slightly.

Master Cyhni smiled down at him. She was exactly as he remembered her, except the yellow of her facial markings was, perhaps, just the slightest bit paler.

She had been his first master, and she was here now.

“Master…?” he breathed, not even sure what he meant to ask.

She stepped forward, breaking the perfect symmetry of the circle. He stared up at her, unable to move, as she clasped her hands in front of her body in a learner’s salute.

“You’ve gone through a terrible ordeal, little one,” she told him, and reached out to touch her fingertips to his face. He closed his eyes and leaned into the comfort. She let her hand linger a moment longer, and then it dropped away. “No one can fill Qui-Gon Jinn’s place as your master, but I would stand in for you now, as I have stood for all of my younglings who have needed me.”

Obi-Wan forced his eyes open and nodded, feeling more awake than he had in all the days since Qui-Gon had died. He bowed, pressing his forehead to his hands, still braced on his knees, before straightening. He met her eyes and said, “If the Force wills it of you, Master Rashiram.”

She grinned, and for the first time, he noticed how sharp her teeth were. Togruta were obligate carnivores, of course he knew that, but he had never quite connected _that_ fact with Master Cy, who had taught him to sort out his letters and had talked him through his anxieties about finding a master and had, more or less, raised him for the first ten years of his life.

She was a formidable Jedi, made even more so by her dedication to their young.

“If the Council agrees?” she asked, casting a sideways glance toward a master Obi-Wan could not see. He held perfectly still as she unclipped her saber from her belt and ignited the blade.

He had never seen her lightsaber in use, only tucked away where little hands couldn’t reach it, and, later, hanging innocuously from her belt. It was the color of a meadow, of the Temple gardens she had loved to bring them to, and it suited her perfectly.

Master Cyhni swung the saber up, around, down to just above his right shoulder. She said, “By the right of the Council.”

Up, around, down to the left shoulder: “By the will of the Force.”

Obi-Wan bowed his head as the saber moved again, to rest above his head. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, you may rise, a Knight of the Jedi Order.”

Her saber hissed as it disengaged, and he lifted his chin once more. She smiled down at him, facial markings creasing, and Obi-Wan drew strength from her smile.

He reached down, bracing a hand on the floor.

And rose.

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to lodge a formal complaint about how hard Yoda's dialogue is to write and the fact that I keep coming up with scenes where he's a central figure. Also, a meditation version of Telephone is perhaps my favorite thing that I've ever come up with.


End file.
